#Bae (The Hashtag Series Book 8)

by Cambria Hebert

  The day passed by quickly, as it always did, but I still glanced at the clock every now and then, wondering if Rim was in town yet. We did some press, some warmups, and headed to the field. Tonight’s game had sold-out seating, so it was going to be a roaring crowd.

  After we were suited up and ready to head out onto the field, I checked my phone to find a text from Rim.

  Full house tonight! We’re already in the box. Kick ass, and I’ll see you later #♥

  I smiled, shoved the phone in my locker, and joined B, who was waiting. “Dude, you better not be this damn slow on the field tonight.”

  I gave him the finger.

  “Girls here?” he asked, not even batting an eye at my gesture.

  “Why you playing like you didn’t check your phone, too?” I cracked.

  He grinned.

  “Decent of the ‘rents to have them in the box tonight,” B said as we huddled up in the center of the locker room for a motivational speech from the coach.

  “Might need to talk to Gamble about getting one of our own. Sitting in the stands isn’t the best idea right now.”

  “I’m sure your mother would love to have them in there all the time.”

  Oh, I’m sure she would, too. Anything to try and get a little closer to Rim. Hell, when we told her she was going to be a grandma, I could have sworn for a second she liked Rim better than me. Her own son. What kind of horseshit was that? Second fiddle, that’s what I was going to be the minute my kid was born.

  If I ever had one that is.

  It became even clearer to Mom that if she wanted the kind of relationship I knew she did with me and any kids I might have, the only way she’d get it was to be kind to my wife.

  Did I think all her effort to be close to my wife was for that reason? No. But it sure as hell didn’t hurt.

  When Rimmel miscarried, I was nervous, even suspicious Mom might back away from her like she had the first time they’d been close. She didn’t. If anything, she seemed more determined to make their relationship right.

  Maybe Rimmel accepting the invite to sit in the box was her way of taking the extended olive branch.

  “All right, listen up, meatheads!” the coach roared, and everyone went silent.

  All thoughts of Rimmel and my mother went away as I focused on the game.

  The team rushed the field, the crowd went nuts, and the game got underway. A few times, I glanced up at the box I knew my parents sat in, even though I couldn’t see through the glass.

  I hoped the press wasn’t too vicious when they entered the stadium. I hoped Rim was having a good time.

  I played hard, wanting to impress the fans and make our first home game this season pretty epic. It also helped my mojo that my wife was so close. I’d forgotten how much it meant to me when she was at my games, what kind of mental high-five it was knowing she was close, and the reward at the end of a go-hard game was a rubdown from Rim.

  Braeden was on fire tonight. Hell, the whole team was. We started kicking ass right out of the gate and hadn’t stopped when halftime rolled around.

  I thought briefly of rushing up to the box to claim a kiss but knew I’d get mobbed and it would turn into a circus.

  Back in the locker room, spirits were high, the coach was fucking thrilled, and the team didn’t have to endure a lecture about our pansy asses sucking.

  Coach and his assistants disappeared into his office to analyze the first half and make adjustments where needed, and the team got a much-needed piece of downtime.

  A few of the guys actually headed for the showers. We had one player we dubbed Dirt because, ironically, the dude hated to get dirty. He showered every halftime. He always said a clean body was more efficient.

  Dude had issues.

  “Don’t forget your body wash, Dirt!” B yelled, and I laughed.

  I grabbed a Gatorade out of the fridge and then tossed one to B before uncapping it and swallow some. Next, I pulled off my jersey and equipment from the waist up. It felt good to breathe a little.

  Braeden was already sitting by our lockers with his feet up, so I palmed my phone and joined him. I tuned out the loud players around me and Dirt singing at the top of his lungs in the shower (Seriously. That dude should not sing Brittney in the shower. Just wrong.) and checked my phone.

  So proud of you! Rimmel texted. Killin’ it out there!

  I smiled as my fingers flew over the screen. 2 quarters left. Then you’re all mine.

  I tossed my phone in my lap and leaned my head against the cold metal of the lockers.

  B stared down at his phone, shaking his head. I smacked his arm. “What?”

  He glanced up, his mouth in a thin line. “Nothing,” he muttered and tossed the phone onto his legs.

  “You see that shit Drumbo pulled out on the field?” he said about a player on the opposing team. “That dude is asking to meet my fist.”

  “That guy ain’t even worth your time,” I said, acting like I was totally distracted by his talk. “He’s such a douche. I give him four games before he’s out with an injury the rest of the season.”

  Braeden made a rude sound. “Ass munch.”

  I laughed but reached out and snagged the phone off his lap. He dove sideways to yank it back, but he missed. “Gotta be quicker than that,” I said and lit up the screen.

  A couple screens were pulled up, one of them being coverage of the game. Sometimes we checked the sports channels to see what they were saying about us or even the opposing team. Every once in a while, we got lucky and pulled some info that we used to our advantage on the field.

  Only today’s coverage was less about the actual game and more about who was in attendance. Rimmel was in the house, and everyone damn sure knew it.

  I seriously would never understand why the press was so freaking fascinated by my wife. She was mine. Everyone else needed to mind their own damn business.

  Ass munches.

  I learned that from Braeden.

  Everyone was clamoring for a look at her. Some speculated she came against my wishes, and that’s why she was hiding. Others thought she was hiding because she was hiding a bump. Some said she was too scared to show her face.

  Since when did the game become about what the wives of the players were doing? Why was it about their clothes, their ability to pump out kids, and where they sat at games?

  This was football. Football. Not a fucking soap opera.

  “Jesus Christ,” I muttered and handed B his phone.

  “I asked Ivy if everything is okay up there.”

  “What’d she say?”

  “Said it was all good.”

  Rimmel didn’t seem upset in her texts, so maybe she didn’t know the stir her presence but lack of being seen caused.

  I pulled up my phone and shot out another text.

  You and Ivy leave the stadium a little early. Less traffic. We’ll meet you guys at the hotel. I left a key at the front desk 4 you.

  I didn’t want Rim hanging around, waiting for me after the game.

  See you then.

  “We’ll meet at the hotel after,” I informed B.

  He nodded. “Smart.”

  I leaned my head against the locker and shut my eyes. It seemed only seconds passed when Coach was yelling for us all to hustle back to the field. As we went, the familiar thunderous and echo-y sound of the crowd hummed around us. It served as a surge of adrenaline and signaled to my conditioned brain it was game time.

  I knew Rim was okay in the box. My parents were with her, and security in that area was tight. People could talk shit online all they wanted, but it was just words.

  The game resumed, and I jogged out on the field and called a play. My teammates and I fell into position; the ball was snapped into my capable hands. In the span of a few heartbeats, I scanned the players, looking for an opening. I bypassed one because dude was seconds away from getting trampled.

  Hopping on one foot, I pulled my arm back, feeling the usual tingle in my muscles as I prepa
red to launch the ball.

  I saw my opening, releasing the ball.

  It spiraled perfectly right down the field. My receiver leapt up and caught it, the football folding right into his waiting hands. He turned and launched forward, rushing down the field.

  I watched, hoping for just another step, another yard.

  Finally, he was forced out of bounds, but not before he managed to advance us near the end zone.

  The crowd went nuts, cheering and screaming. B came rushing up to smack me on the helmet. “That was a sweet-ass throw, Rome!” he yelled.

  I spit out my mouth guard and grinned.

  Along with our other teammates, who were celebrating, I turned to regroup. I leaned in to call another play.

  “What the fuck?” Trumbly muttered and glanced up out of the huddle.

  The rest of us followed suit when we noticed the same thing. The crowd was still going nuts. Now don’t get me wrong. There was always cheering and a roaring crowd at games, at all times.

  I’d just thrown a sweet pass and got everyone’s juices flowing, but it should have died down some by now. They should have been anticipating the next snap; they should’ve been holding their breath for a touchdown.

  Why weren’t they?

  “Uh, Rome,” someone said, and I straightened.

  One of the guys slapped me on the back and turned me toward the giant screen broadcasting the game.

  Oh. Shit.

  I lifted my arms and signaled for a timeout.

  Rimmel

  Sometimes a bitch just snaps.

  I wasn’t a bitch.

  Far from it, actually. But there was also a limit to how much a fairly mild-tempered girl like me could take.

  I was damn near that point. Like a rubber band being forced around a too-fat stack of papers, I was thinking about snapping.

  I guess that’s how I knew I wasn’t a bitch. I highly doubted bitches thought about it before they snapped.

  That probably stung harder for whoever was on the receiving end. No matter. I could sting, too. I was married to Romeo after all, and my big brother was a hothead.

  I felt stronger today. And the day before. And the day before that.

  I glanced over at Valerie. She noticed me and smiled.

  Ever since that day I’d shown up at her door and we had tea, I’d felt stronger. It was like just getting permission from someone who wasn’t me, who wasn’t my husband who loved me so unflinchingly it wouldn’t matter what I said or did, lifted a weight off my shoulders.

  Permission for what?

  To forgive myself. To understand that maybe, just maybe, Evie’s loss wasn’t my fault. It was okay to hurt and cry. It was okay to want so desperately to try for another piece of Romeo but just as desperately not want to, also.

  It was okay to be a mess.

  I am allowed.

  My goodness, I hadn’t noticed just how sore my shoulders were from carrying such a load. How bruised my heart had become.

  It was worse than even I’d known.

  Was I better now? Completely healed?

  No.

  I still ached for my daughter. Some moments I still blamed myself for the loss of that little baby. I still looked at Romeo and wondered if he thought I failed him, even though he told me I hadn’t.

  I was still scared.

  Those were moments now, and as all-consuming and engulfing as they were, I was able to tell myself those moments would give way to new ones.

  And they did.

  Now, along with those dark times, there were lighter ones. I thought of my mother rocking my daughter in her arms. I thought of her singing her the songs she’d sung to me. I thought hopefully of the child Romeo and I would be blessed with, the one whose eyes I would look into and see his father reflected back.

  I was stronger.

  Not healed. I would never be “healed.” I didn’t think there was such a thing for a person who’d lost a child. It was simply learning to live incomplete.

  I still had a very long way to go, but Valerie helped me realize I didn’t have to go that distance alone. It was one of the reasons I was here today. I wanted my husband. To gaze into the bottomless azure of his stare, to feel his lips beneath mine and be calmed by a presence only he provided. I wanted to show him I was coping and to support him in everything he did.

  I chose Romeo. So I was here.

  Everyone knew it, too.

  That’s where the snapping came into play.

  There was a special entrance for those who had box seats at the stadium. More private, if you will. Celebrities, well-to-do business owners—Ron Gamble and company—owned box seats, so I supposed it was a necessity for discreetness.

  When we arrived, we parked near that entrance. Romeo’s parents were just behind. Security was waiting at the door. I had no doubt Romeo had them all on guard. It didn’t matter, though, because the press was still there. They might not be allowed into the boxes, but nothing stopped them from being outside the entrance.

  Ivy and I had glanced at each other. I felt a dip in my belly because I knew what was coming. I glanced down at what I was wearing.

  “Should I have dressed better?” I worried.

  Ivy flipped the long, blond ends of her hair over her shoulders. “Honestly? It doesn’t matter what you wear. They’re going to say crap no matter what.”

  True. “Well, it’s a good thing I went for comfort.”

  Ivy smiled. Of course she looked perfectly posh in a pair of skinny jeans, a funnel-neck sweater, and a green army-style jacket with studs on the shoulders.

  And me?

  I was in my usual. Jeans and a hoodie. Not my Alpha U hoodie, though, my Knights one. It had Romeo’s name and number on the back, too. My hair was down, though, instead of up in the usual bun. Ivy had blown it out for me last night, and it was still nice and smooth, so I figured I’d give Valerie a treat and not look like a total troll.

  Wasn’t I a nice daughter-in-law? :-)

  There was a sudden knock on the passenger window, and I jumped, pressing a hand to my chest. Tony was standing there with a guilty look on his face when I whipped around.

  He motioned for me to get out of the car, then glanced around at the descending press.

  Ivy was already on the move. She’d put her Range Rover in park (yes, we drove the same kind of car, just different colors) and climbed into the backseat where Nova was strapped in.

  “Lots of pictures,” she said, trying to make it sound like a game. My resolve strengthened, likely because of anger. We shouldn’t have to play a game with our children so they weren’t alarmed by the vultures.

  “Get out on Tony’s side,” I told her. “He can help shield Nova.”

  “Okay, ready,” she said, a diaper bag on her shoulder and Nova in her arms. The doors on my side of the SUV popped open at the same time, both of us scurrying out.

  Tony put his arm around me, but I motioned to Ivy. “The baby.”

  He seemed torn, glancing between me and Nova.

  “She’s just a little girl,” I told him.

  He nodded once and went to Ivy, wrapped an arm around her shoulder, and started forward. Valerie fell into step beside me as the four of us moved toward the entrance.

  Reporters and paparazzi crowded around. The sound of snapping pictures and the constant flashes threatened to blind me.

  “Rimmel!” someone yelled. “Over here!”

  “Get a picture of her stomach!” someone else yelled.

  “Are you pregnant?”

  “When’s the divorce?”

  “What do you have to say about the list of women offering to give Romeo a baby?”

  My rushing footsteps halted. Everything inside me stilled.

  There are women offering to give my husband a baby?

  In the words of said husband, Oh hells no!

  Valerie made a sound of distress and took my hand. I looked up at her. She had her chin high and a stubborn, intimidating look on her face.

 
Be like that.

  With a sniff and, if I do say so myself, rather on-point hair flip, I marched ahead, holding my chin high.

  “Is it true you can’t conceive?” someone shouted.

  Cameras flashed.

  I felt my resolve waver, but I forced it back in place. Thankfully, security officers shoved through the press and flanked Valerie and me. After that, we were whisked into the building where Ivy and Tony waited.

  Valerie gave my hand a squeeze before releasing it. I could have sworn I felt a little pride from her at the way I handled that.

  I did better than I thought. Perhaps the weakness I was so afraid of was more perceived than actual. It didn’t matter my insides quivered, my stomach was in knots, and all the muscles at the base of my skull felt like they’d been slammed with a wrecking ball.

  Unfortunately, my well of tolerance for handling things seemed to dry up quickly, so it was uncertain how much more I’d be able to withstand today.

  The box Romeo’s parents had was beautiful. There was seating for over ten people, a large flat-screen TV that played the game, another smaller TV above the full bar showing coverage from SportsCenter or something, and a wide glass front that looked down over the field.

  The bar was stocked with a ton of drinks (alcoholic and non), and there was a full spread of game day eats across the counter.

  A few of Tony’s colleagues would be joining us, but other than that, it was just us four and Nova.

  It was definitely a pampered way to enjoy a live football game. And bonus! It was climate controlled, so that meant the cold autumn air wouldn’t freeze my fingers into numbness.

  Still, I preferred sitting in the stands.

  It was more real to me. More normal.

  The first quarter was fun and relaxing. We munched on snacks, drank apple cider and hot chocolate (Ivy and I didn’t drink at games… Ivy barely drank at all), and played with Nova.

  Valerie and I even cheered on Romeo together.

  It’s never just that easy, though.

  Word got out that I was here. Pictures of me entering the side doors were already popping up online, and posts were flying. If I thought the questions the reporters screamed at me were invasive, well… They looked like pretty lacey panties compared to the stuff online.